


all roads, they lead me here

by groundopenwide



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes less than one year. One year, and somehow, Blaine manages to ruin everything. He always does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all roads, they lead me here

__And would it have been worth it, after all,__  
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,  
Would it have been worth while  
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,  
To have squeezed the universe into a ball  
To roll it towards some overwhelming question  
If one, settling a pillow by her head,  
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.  
That is not it, at all."

-T.S. Eliot

*

He remembers it.

He remembers everything about it, as if it were yesterday. The blaring lights. The nervous twist in his stomach. The unsettled breath catching in his throat at the thought of that  _boy_ doing something good.

Good.

It isn't a word Blaine generally associated with Sebastian, at the time. Any reminders of the boy's existence brought on a scowl, a sneer, a fold of his arms across his chest. The possibility that there was more to him than the cocky, impenetrable exterior seemed unfathomable. And it was, until that day.

Regionals.

The day Blaine physically  _ached_  with want. A want to be up on that stage, with the Warblers. Where he belonged. As soon as the idea flitted through his mind, he felt horrible. Like a traitor. And he  _was_  a traitor. How could he want something like that? To be away from Kurt?  _You are a horrible person, Blaine Anderson._

The next memories are foggy. He's rising to his feet, cheering, giving a standing ovation. The rest of the New Directions are clapping politely, genuinely, though they are far from feeling the pride that swells within Blaine as the Warblers finish. They are amazing. Flawless, even. Deep down, Blaine knows he should be terrified, having to go up against such stiff competition.

He's too busy smiling.

When it's their turn, Blaine goes through the motions. He sings, he dances, he raps, he smiles. The performance goes off without a hitch, and as they bow to the calls of the audience and the lights dim on their sweaty faces, he already knows.

He knows it when they are standing with hands interlocked, New Directions on one side of the stage and the Warblers on the other. He knows it by the look Sebastian passes his way, the hollowness and defeat in his eyes. Their gazes meet, and the announcer shouts the New Directions' name into the mic, and that's it. It's done.

Somehow, Blaine fights his way through the throng of bodies suddenly condensing upon him and crosses the stage to Sebastian. The other boy's hand is already extended, and when they clasp palms, he immediately knows that everything has changed.

 _This_  is a beginning.

*

Required to fulfill his obligatory glee club member duties, Blaine attends the celebratory party that night at Santana's. Everyone is floating, so alive with happiness and excitement that the air is tingling with it. He remains plastered to Kurt's side all night, the delighted grin on his face pasted in place. His cheeks are starting to hurt, but he is simply following along, allowing himself to get caught up in everyone else's tangible enthusiasm. It's easy. No thinking involved.

His phone goes off in his pocket, and he thinks nothing of it as he fumbles the device out and stares down at the screen.  _Unknown number,_  it reads. Not that suspicious, based on the way Kurt peers over his shoulder briefly before turning back to his discussion with Rachel. Blaine unlocks his phone and opens his text messages, his stomach doing an unexpected flip at the words that greet him.

_Congrats, Killer. You guys deserve it._

If the occasion ever arises, Blaine will deny the trembling of his fingers and the swelling in his chest as he taps out his reply.

_Thanks. You were fantastic, too._

Seconds later, the response comes through.

_Not fantastic enough._

Blaine lifts his head minutely, darting a glance over at Kurt, who is still engrossed in conversation. He's not sure why, but this still feels  _wrong_  somehow, even if Sebastian had already expressed remorse for everything that had occurred.

_I didn't mean to bother you, I know you're probably celebrating. I just wanted to say good job._

The second text arrives from Sebastian moments later, before Blaine even has a chance to reply. His brow furrows as he quickly types back.

_You aren't bothering me. It's not much of a celebration, if you can even call it that. What are you doing?_

_Nothing. No one exactly wants to hang out with the guy who's the reason you lost Regionals._

The comment, the nonchalant way it's presented—it causes something inside of Blaine to twist. He doesn't like the idea of Sebastian being...alone. Not with his thoughts, at a time like this.

_I am talking to you, aren't I?_

Blaine anxiously awaits the boy's reply, his feet tapping absently against the ground. When his phone buzzes in his palm, the message that stares up at him puts the tiniest of smiles on his face.

_I guess you are. Thanks, Blaine._

He stares at the words for a long moment before slowly entering Sebastian's name into his contacts and hitting  _save._  It feels like an accomplishment.

*

Kurt's graduation is a colorless affair.

Blaine obediently accepts a ticket to the ceremony, sitting with Burt and Carol, and standing to clap whenever a member of the New Directions is called. As Kurt receives his diploma, he even lets out an excited whoop, earning a bright grin from his boyfriend on the stage. Afterwards is a blur of camera flashes and snippets of conversation, Kurt dragging him around by the hand as he chats incessantly with his friends. Blaine stays quiet the majority of the time, only commenting when a glance is tossed his way or flashing a quick smile when it seems appropriate. The five of them go for dinner at Breadstix that night, discussing Kurt's future plans over pasta and salad.

Suddenly, he's not so hungry anymore.

He knows Kurt's talked about it, his dream of moving to New York still alive and thriving despite his dismissal from NYADA. But, for some reason, the idea had cemented in Blaine's head that Kurt wasn't going anywhere. At least, not yet. Blaine had figured they had another year to figure it out, to see where the future would take them.

Apparently, that's not the case.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Kurt murmurs a few hours later, as they lay curled up under his ridiculously soft sheets. Blaine has one arm tucked under his head, the other distractedly stroking over Kurt's back, and he freezes abruptly at his boyfriend's apology.

"It's...okay," he replies softly, keeping his eyes glued somewhere in the general vicinity of Kurt's shoulder. "I guess I just thought that we'd...have more time. That's all. You know that I'm proud of you. I'll support you, no matter where you plan on going."

He knows the words are right, they're what he's supposed to say. So why do they feel so  _wrong_  coming out of his mouth?

*

It's the fourth of July, and Blaine is accompanying Kurt to a barbecue Rachel's dads are hosting. Everyone is there, even Puck, who they all had assumed would have 'better' things to do. There's food and music and laughter, and when the fireworks start up at the park a few blocks away, the group of them situate themselves across the back lawn, nearly piled on top of one another.

Blaine settles himself next to Kurt, their backs pressed to the edge of the porch as they gaze upwards at the illuminated sky. Kurt is humming a low tune under his breath, and the moment is so...tranquil. He might even go so far as to call it perfect, but he's afraid to break the serenity of it all.

The fireworks thunder overhead, sending entire ripples down his spine. The sensation is so overpowering that Blaine almost misses the feeling of his phone going off in his pocket.

_Do you like fireworks?_

The random question evokes a low chuckle from Blaine as he shakes his head, ignoring the questioning glance Kurt shoots his way.

_I do. There's just something about them that's just...bigger than life, you know? Both literally and...not._

_I think I know what you mean. Like there's more to...everything. Who knew we could get metaphorical about fireworks?_

He can't keep the splitting smile from his face as he reads, his eyes lifting upwards once more as the colored explosions coat the sky. This is the first time he's spoken to Sebastian since the night of Regionals, months ago, and he hadn't realized just how much he'd been hoping that wasn't going to be it. Even with everything that had gone down between Sebastian and the New Directions, Blaine specifically, there's still something about the other boy that pulls him in. Leaves him feeling outside of himself, like maybe he's not who everyone says he is.

Who he's supposed to be.

_It's possible to be metaphorical about everything. For instance, did you know that I am currently re-assessing the meaning of my life as I know it? All because of a discussion about fireworks._

And perhaps that is what he's doing; re-assessing. As he peers over at Kurt, whose attention has returned to the exhibit above them, he can't help thinking that maybe some reassessment would be a good thing.

_Don't think too hard, Anderson._

*

August arrives far too soon. He swears that just moments ago, he and Kurt were spending their days laughing and being— _in love,_  and now he's walking up the steps to McKinley High on his own while Kurt boards an airplane a few hours away. It's so difficult to perceive the reality of it all, that Blaine really is  _alone_  now, without Kurt there to ground him. He feels like a balloon that's been cut free from its anchor, now floating aimlessly as it is buoyed upwards, neglecting any sense of gravity.

He's lost. He has no purpose.

Glee club is...different. The room seems so  _vacant_  without everyone, without Rachel and Finn and Mike and Quinn. Without Kurt. Blaine bypasses his usual seat in favor of one in the back corner, dumping his satchel onto the ground and lowering his chin to his chest. There is absent chatter around him, and he's pretty sure he greets Sam with a weak  _hello,_  but the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. It's only once he's home that night, his AP Biology textbook spread across his lap while he weighs his phone back and forth between his palms, that he comes back to himself.

Seconds pass, and suddenly the sound of the dial tone filters into his head as he presses the phone to his ear. It rings, and rings, and then, there's a soft  _click,_  followed by a muffled noise and a mumbled, "Blaine?"

 _Sebastian._  He doesn't know why, but for some reason Blaine had been under the impression that he was calling Kurt. That would have been the appropriate thing to do, what he was _supposed_ to do. Instead, there is now soft, unrecognizable breath in his ear and a fluttering in his chest that he can't quite name.

"Uh, hey," he says weakly, after a prolonged period of silence. Sebastian lets out a quiet chuckle into the phone, and the noise immediately soothes Blaine's nerves. It's not  _mean_ laughter, it's just...that. Laughter.

"Long time no talk. How are you?"

Blaine contemplates the question, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he releases a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't know."

When Sebastian replies, there's a hint of concern in his voice that wasn't there before. It's such a new concept to Blaine, that someone might be  _concerned_  for him. Truly worried...other than Kurt, of course. "You don't know?"

"Kurt's in New York," he blurts, the words slipping out before he can stop them. The rest of the story follows, a jumbled and rambling mess. "He left this morning, while I was at school, and...it's just weird, you know? I haven't been without him in...god, almost two years. And at McKinley, he was  _always_  there. Now he's not, and I feel...lost. I don't know what to do without him. Wow, that sounds pathetic." The final comment is added as an afterthought, nearly muttered under his breath. Once his rant is complete, he sinks back against his headboard and attempts to calm himself, casting his textbook off to the side. Why is he even telling Sebastian this? He doesn't want to hear about Blaine's problems, much less problems with his boyfriend. It's...Sebastian, after all.

"Blaine?" Sebastian questions, his voice low. Blaine's eyes flutter open at the sound, blinking furiously at the sudden stinging sensation in them. He makes a soft noise of affirmation into the phone, which Sebastian takes as his cue to speak.

"Look, you know I don't have experience with this kind of stuff," he begins. "But...remember that Kurt isn't McKinley. You've got other people there, friends, I'm sure. And they like you for  _you_ , not Kurt. Just keep that in mind. As for the 'missing-your-boyfriend' part...talk to him, you idiot."

The advice is so blunt and  _obvious_  that Blaine instantly wants to smack himself upside the head. He's not sure why he had to actually call someone to help him figure things out, but Sebastian's right. He can't let Kurt define McKinley; he has to make the experience his own. His boyfriend might be in New York, too, but that doesn't mean anything bad for  _them._ Blaine just has to be willing to try.

"...thanks, Seb," he remarks softly. On the other end of the line, he can hear Sebastian snort in amusement, and the sound puts a smile on his face.

"I'm not stating anything except the obvious, Killer. Go call your boyfriend."

So he does.

*

Hollywood doesn't exaggerate; long distance relationships are hard.

Blaine feels like he hasn't  _really_  spoken to Kurt in weeks, his texts eliciting minor responses and his calls going straight to voicemail more often than not. It's awful, and he physically aches with how much he misses his boyfriend. This isn't what they promised. Promises of talking every day, not letting the distance come between them. But that's exactly what this feels like. An obstacle, building up higher and taller between them. Soon enough it'll be unconquerable.

With each day that passes, he feels further away. Further away from Kurt, further away from himself. Something inside of him has been knocked loose, and he can't figure out which way to screw it back on correctly.

He's broken.

In hindsight, he knows it's stupid. It's  _fucking_  stupid, is what it is. So goddamned fucking stupid, yet he does it anyway.

Who knew Blaine Anderson had it in him?

A few short facebook IM's, an eventless Friday night, and it's all led him here. Here, to this strange boy's bed, where fingers curl sickeningly against his skin and breaths are huffed out roughly against his ear. There is a mouth on his neck, and hands under his shirt, which soon travel lower,  _lower,_  and the entire time, his mind is screaming at him.  _What are you doing? Stop. Stop right now._

But he doesn't. It happens, and he can't take it back. It's too late now. As he lays curled up against those foreign sheets, the nausea comes up unbidden, and it's all he can do to tug his clothes back on and dash out of there. He's barely sprinted to the end of the block before he is keeled over and vomiting into the bushes, coughing and choking and  _aching._  What has he done?

*

One week. He makes it all of one week before he can't take it anymore, one week of dodging his own face in the mirror and monotone text messages exchanged with Kurt. He drags his last shred of dignity onto a plane and travels to New York, hoping,  _praying_  that this will make everything right again.

It doesn't.

It's perfect, at first. Kurt is so happy to see him, and Blaine is just as happy. He'd forgotten how beautiful Kurt was, how kind, how loving. They embrace, and Kurt goes on and on about his new life, his new  _everything._  Blaine swallows down the flash of hurt that pops up with every story, the stubborn side of him that's crying out,  _what about me?_

And Finn is there, and Rachel is happy, and the four of them are together again. It's just like old times, except it's  _not,_  because Blaine is a liar and a cheater and he's  _filthy._  He's filthy, and every time Kurt touches him, it takes visible effort not flinch away and cower in on himself because of what he did. Kurt deserves better, he deserves so much better.

Apparently, Finn is just as troubled, because he's been discharged from the army and has nothing left. Nothing but Rachel, who is so obviously meant for New York City. She is thriving. There's no other word to describe it, and poor Finn has been left behind, sitting in the dust as Rachel smiles and flirts and sings with a new boy who is so much more than Finn could ever be. Finn knows just what Blaine is feeling like, he realizes. They have both been dropped onto the backburner, left to pick up the pieces of their own sorry lives. But for Blaine, it is so much more his fault.

So he sings. He sings, and it is a confession, a confession of all the things that have been clawing at him for the past three months. The emotions come pouring forth, everything that he can't hold back any longer. The fear. The loneliness. The aimlessness, the sense of wandering that he had taken up without Kurt there to ground him. There are tears and choked words and pounding piano keys, and then it is over. He has nothing left to give.

Kurt knows. It is plain in the worry etched on his fragile features, the wrinkle in his forehead and the question in his eyes. Blaine can feel his own skin crawling from the reminder of what he has done, and the fact that Kurt is about to learn the truth.

The betrayal on Kurt's face is so much worse than he could have ever imagined.

Blaine has never felt as despicable, as unworthy as he does in that moment. He is dirt. He is scum. He has no right to even be  _near_  Kurt anymore, to do so much as think about him. He hasn't been deserving ever since that night, that night when he fucked up so royally that everything became ruptured beyond repair.

This is the fallout.

Crying. Screaming. Useless apologies, void of any sincere meaning. It doesn't matter how sorry he is. It will never be enough.  _He_ will never be enough.

And silence. Silence so thick, so deafening, Blaine feels like he is drowning. It is clear to him then, amidst the suffocating quiet, that this, whatever  _this_  was, is not anything. Not anymore. It hasn't been for awhile now. He had taken it between his disgusting hands and ripped it apart, torn it to shreds without even stopping to think. There truly is nothing left to say.

Not even goodbye.

*

He crawls back to Ohio, arms and legs bound, with his head barely floundering above water. There is nothing but emptiness, a gaping chasm where his heart should be.  _You are a soulless human being, Blaine Anderson._

Kurt is gone, and if he was lonely before, that is nothing in comparison to the now. The actuality that it is now Blaine Anderson, just Blaine, with no one and nothing left to keep going for. He is isolated, the only person in this desolate universe that he can count on. The thought is not as all-encompassing as it should be; he has already come to accept it, had accepted it long before the physical consequences of his actions.

At two o'clock in the morning, his plane lands back in Ohio, and the airport is deserted. He fits right in, he can't help but think. No one would want to be around him now, anyway.

But he is selfish. Blaine Anderson is selfish, and alone, and it is two o'clock in the morning. He raises his phone to his ear, expression blank as he curls up on one of the uncomfortable benches near the baggage claim and awaits an answer. When the line finally,  _finally_  clicks, Blaine has to forcefully swallow past the lump in his throat in order to speak.

" _Blaine?_  What the hell?"

His voice is groggy, but he's  _there,_  he answered. Blaine clenches his eyes shut in order to hold the tears back.

"Can- Seb, come pick me up?"

Is that really his voice? So void of emotion, choked, raspy. Something about his current condition must filter through the other boy's half-asleep haze, because his next response is much more alert.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Where are you? Talk to me, Blaine."

"Airport," he says weakly, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his cheek against the glass as he stares out at the empty arrival area. "'M sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Sebastian murmurs, rustling around on the other end of the line. "I'll try and get there as fast as I can, okay? Stay inside, I'll call you once I show. I promise, B. A half hour, tops."

Blaine lets the boy continue his rambling as he rests his forehead against the window, his back hunched, posture utterly defeated. He forces himself to breathe,  _in, out,_  over again. Tries to keep himself sane. Sebastian's reassurances finally die off, and Blaine can hear a last concerned whisper as he tucks in on himself. "Blaine?"

"Thanks, Seb," he mumbles, phone dropping into his lap.  _In, out, in, out,_  he chants, fingers grappling at the fabric of his jeans.  _Keep it together. You can't do this, not here._

It is with these thoughts that he finally dozes off, head lolling against the window and body crumpled up on the hard airport bench. Abandoned, just how he belongs.

*

His eyes open, and Sebastian is there.

Anxious, the image fuzzy, but he's there, and all Blaine wants to do is  _cry._  But he doesn't. He winces as he uncurls from his previous position and stumbles to his feet instead, saying nothing as Sebastian's palm cups his elbow to steady him. The other boy then hooks Blaine's duffel bag over his shoulder and leads the way outside to his car, where he doesn't stray from Blaine's side until he is safely strapped in. That being done, Sebastian makes his way around to the driver's side and starts the car, his gaze darting back and forth between Blaine and the road all the while. Finally, after the first few minutes pass in utter quiet, he parts his lips to speak. "B—"

"Later?" Blaine begs, his voice hoarse as he urges his eyes open, shooting Sebastian a pleading look. The boy's jaw clenches visibly, but he nods, fingers flexing against the steering wheel. Satisfied that they can hold off any discussion until after he can get some much-needed sleep, Blaine curls up against the door and nods off, his body aching.

*

He awakens in a bed that is most definitely not his, and panics.

Panics, because how could he do this  _again?_  He is pitiful. Loathsome. A disgrace.

Scrambling up to a sitting position, Blaine lurches away from the bed and trips as his feet hit the floor, his side knocking into a wooden nightstand that sits beside the bed. Something tilts over and hits the carpeted floor with a  _thump,_  causing Blaine to jerk once again as he catches himself on the window frame, heart pounding. Breath caught in his throat. Eyes bouncing around wildly.

"Shit! Blaine? Are you okay? I thought I heard—"

Sebastian startles to a halt in the doorway, his eyes wide with fervor and his face flushed. Blaine immediately cowers in on himself, ashamed, his palms rubbing at the grit beneath his eyelids. When he glances upward again, Sebastian has taken a few hesitant steps into the room, bottom lip pulled nervously between his teeth.

"Sorry, sorry, I should have known you'd be surprised. You passed out in the car last night, and I couldn't get you to wake up, so I just carried you inside..." He trails off as he comes to a stop in front of Blaine, who has one palm splayed across the glass of the window, his chest heaving as he tries to steady his breath from his earlier reaction.

"It's...it's okay..." he murmurs, looking down at his feet. Sebastian is a never-faltering presence in front of him, his curious gaze boring holes into the top of Blaine's skull. They stay like that, frozen, as Blaine struggles to gain his bearings. He is with Sebastian, who drove to the airport in the middle of the night to  _pick him up._

God, he doesn't deserve this. "I'm sor—"

"Don't you  _dare_  apologize," Sebastian whispers harshly, effectively getting Blaine to snap his mouth shut. Shaking his head, he closes the distance between them and tips Blaine's chin up with his index finger, his eyes filled with worry. " _Blaine._ "

The way Sebastian says his name is like a bucket of cold water soaking him to the bone, seeping beneath his skin and wriggling its way into every inch of his being. There is so much inflection behind it—uneasiness, trepidation, compassion, desperation—that Blaine can't take it anymore. His entire body begins to tremble as he opens and closes his mouth, his eyes welling up until he can't hold back.

He cries.

Cries, and cries, and cries, sobbing and wailing and sniffling, clutching at Sebastian like a victim to a lifeline, his only opportunity for survival. He can't see beyond the soaked fabric of the boy's shirt, his eyelashes sticking together with moisture and his limbs shaking. This is what he has been holding in, what he had tried to shove down at the airport last night.

Finally, he is letting go.

And it feels...not good, exactly, but satisfying, in a deprecating sort of way. At last, he's taken responsibility for his actions, and now he is dealing with the aftermath. Not recovering, per say, but he  _is_ dealing. Allowing all of his emotions to spill forth is just part of the process.

Without Blaine taking notice, Sebastian's arms have somehow curved themselves around his back and tucked him in close, his face pressed to the taller boy's shoulder. The tears are still coming, a never ending tidal wave that Blaine just can't seem to stop, the tremors racking through his body. Soon enough, Sebastian has maneuvered him over to the bed, where he gently leads their entwined bodies down onto the mattress and arranges his limbs to fit comfortably around Blaine's.

They stay like that for hours. Days, maybe. Blaine is too much of a wreck notice. What he does pay attention to, however, is the fact that Sebastian never drifts from his side. He remains a warm, solid body, always there, barely holding Blaine together with his calloused palms and hushed murmurs of nothingness. The gratitude that Blaine feels is so enormous that putting it into words would be futile; and yet, deep down, a part of him is niggling around and hissing,  _you don't deserve this. Not after what you did._  It a constant reminder of the mess he has made of his life, and he does his best to shove it back, away, far from the forefront of his conscience. Hours of hiding himself away in Sebastian's arms, hiding from the reality that he has ruined  _everything._

Everything.

It's possible that maybe  _something_  hasn't been tainted, that something being whatever this thing is with Sebastian. But then that tiny voice reappears, chanting  _no_  over and over again, screaming that he  _is a horrible person, don't take Sebastian down with you._   _How can you keep doing this? How can you keep tearing people down because of your own faults?_

So the next night, he untangles himself from Sebastian's grasp and quietly slips out of the house, ignoring the yearning inside of him to just stay, be protected,  _forever._  There hasn't even been time for him to confess, to tell Sebastian what he's done. But he needs to leave; he needs to disappear, before the cruelness that's buried somewhere deep within him threatens to come out and leave Sebastian broken, too.

There will be time. Later.

*

Sebastian calls him.

The following morning, and Blaine hasn't slept more than a few minutes of dozing, his mind spinning around at thousand miles per hour. His loneliness is a physical  _ache,_  and he just wants  _someone,_  but he doesn't give in. He doesn't give in because he has  _earned_  this emptiness, the desolation. When his phone blares on sometime around mid-morning, he even contemplates letting it go to voicemail, but he knows that would only be prolonging the inevitable.

"Seb—"

"Blaine," Sebastian quickly interrupts, the relief evident in his voice. "Thank god. I woke up and you were gone, and...I was worried."

 _Worried._  No one should be worried for him, not now. "Well, I'm fine," Blaine mumbles.

"Are you?"

The words are fired back a moment later, Sebastian's voice lilting up in question. Blaine falters for a long second, his breathing getting caught somewhere in his throat as he struggles to form a response.  _I'm fine, don't worry about me, I don't deserve it, I don't deserve YOU—_

But what comes out is a hollow, "no."

That is not what he is supposed to say. He needs to stop, take it back, reassure this boy that he's  _okay, sorry, don't bother,_  but it's too late. Sebastian is already murmuring something about being there soon, and when he hangs up, Blaine wants to chuck his phone at the wall and crawl under his blankets to wallow in self-misery for the rest of eternity. It would be decent punishment, he thinks.

*

"Go home," is how he greets Sebastian, cracking open the front door and squinting out into the morning light. Sebastian's face twists immediately at that, his lips pursing before he reacts and quickly sticks out his foot to prevent the door from being shut in his face. They stay like that, staring each other down, until Sebastian's expression suddenly softens and he pushes Blaine back gently, stepping into the house.

"I'm not going anywhere, Killer," he says softly, closing the door silently behind them. Blaine's chest practically collapses at that, a familiar pinprick sensation forming beneath his eyelids. It's a  _fucking_  promise. He knows it, Sebastian knows it, and god knows the boy is stubborn enough to keep it.

Why can't he just see that  _Blaine isn't worth it?_

"Don't say that," he begs, voice cracking on the last syllable. Sebastian hovers uncertainly behind him until his fingers suddenly dart out and snatch up Blaine's wrist, stroking hesitantly over the pale skin.

"Why?"

_Because I'll just fuck this up. You._

"I know you have this ridiculous, self-deprecating martyr act going on right now—and don't deny it, because it's obvious, you've always been the blame-yourself type—but trust me when I say that  _you aren't a bad person._  Everyone makes mistakes, Blaine. So, whatever you did, just...believe me, it's not as bad as you think it is," Sebastian finishes, using his grip on Blaine's arm to tug him around so that their gazes can meet.

The utter defeat he is feeling has to be written all over his face, his eyes the worst of all. The stinging is still there, building up so strongly that he has to blink repeatedly to keep the tears at bay. He's cried enough over the last thirty-six hours, and his tear glands should have dried up by now. Despite this, he clenches his eyes shut and attempts to hold his emotions in check, his following words void of any emotion as he forces them out from between his lips.

"I cheated on Kurt."

He steels himself. Braces for impact, for the explosion that he knows is going to come. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, arms straining.

Nothing happens.

Glancing up slowly, Blaine's mind swirls in confusion as he takes in the look on Sebastian's face. He's not...angry. Hurt? Surprised? Something unrecognizable flashes across his features, and then it is gone, replaced by the most pitying look that Blaine has ever bore witness to. And  _that_  isn't something he can handle. He shouldn't be  _pitied._  The sympathetic expression stabs him straight through his core, igniting an entirely new swell of emotions that haven't been available until now.

"Don't you fucking pity me," he spits, yanking his arm out of Sebastian's grasp and stumbling backwards. "I don't deserve  _pity._  I don't deserve  _sympathy._  I don't deserve anything except this torture, the agonizing pain and the reminder of what I've done. I cheated, Sebastian. How could I do that to him?! What... _evil_  could have  _possibly_  possessed to me to do something so...despicable, so detestable, so  _vile?_  I'm  _dirty._  I'm dirty, and I'm a liar, and I'm not worthy of anything except a hole in the ground where I can go to  _rot_  because of this awful thing I've done."

The rant is punctuated by this final statement, the words dying off and leaving Blaine's heart thundering in his chest. His cheeks are red with exertion and his skin is absolutely _crawling,_  and he feels soiled. Filthy.

Will the feeling ever go away?

Sebastian's eyes are indiscernible. Narrowed, watching Blaine in a peculiar fashion with his head tilted slightly to one side. Sliding his arms around himself, Blaine finally lowers his head, losing any of his previous bravado. He stares down at his feet, his insides squirming at the boy's close scrutiny.

It lasts far too long, in his opinion.

He is just about to tell Sebastian to leave, sure that he will actually  _listen_  this time, when the boy's voice stops him.

"Who?"

Blaine automatically flinches at that, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his own shirt. "Does it even matter?"

"Does it matter that you slept with someone other than the 'love of your life' and couldn't have even done it with me? Yeah, it kind of does."

Jerking his head up, Blaine instantly has to resist the urge to shrink back from Sebastian's hard gaze, the words falling from his mouth in a jumbled mess. "What? I—I don't..."

"Of course you don't." A harsh laugh emanates from Sebastian's throat, and the rueful smirk on his face is something that Blaine hasn't seen in...months. Not since things changed.

At least, he thought they had.

"So fucking  _oblivious,_  goddammit, Blaine..." Sebastian's features shift into something much more...accepting, a slow exhale escaping him. Blaine stands rooted to the spot, unsure of what they're even talking about anymore. Sebastian should be running for the hills, or screaming at him, or...something.

Anything besides this.

"I—I don't understand."

"Yeah, I know," Sebastian admits, shaking his head. "Look, Blaine—nothing's changed. From what I said before, I mean. You think you're a terrible person, but...I promise, you're not."

This earns a snort from Blaine. "Right."

"I'm serious," Sebastian presses, running a hand anxiously through his hair. "You're one of the good guys, Blaine. I know there's nothing I can say right now to convince you of it, but it's true. Just remember that."

With that, he lifts a hand in a short, awkward wave and turns for the door, pausing in step as his palm touches the handle. "Call me once you've forgiven yourself."

And he's gone.

Blaine hopes he's willing to wait awhile for that call.

*

One month. One month, and nothing is better, and everything is still  _wrong._

It's so wrong, and Blaine is beginning to lose it. Actually, he started losing it a long, long time ago, maybe even before Kurt left for New York.

_Reassessing._

Can he even call it that? Is that what started this whole mess? He'd like to have something (or someone) to blame, but there's nothing. Nothing except a few uneventful months and his own thoughts.

And Sebastian.

He hasn't called. He really is waiting for Blaine to take the initiative, to stop with this self-bullying debacle, man up, and call him. But he can't. Because Sebastian wants him to  _forgive_ himself, and he can't do that quite yet.

He'll never do it, at this rate.

Sam tries. They all try.  _You're not the bad guy, Blaine._  But the voice is still there,  _you're a horrible person, Blaine Anderson._  The worst part is that he still believes it. A small part of him will always believe it.

The saying, "time heals all wounds" has obviously never been tested for accuracy.

So he immerses himself in distractions, dragging himself through the school production of  _Grease_  and putting full effort into rehearsals for Sectionals. The New Directions are already a lost cause, and that much is obvious. Finn is clueless, and the newbies are too sunken into their own personal drama to have their attention focused on the grand prize. Had this been occurring a year ago, Blaine would have been exasperated, complaining back and forth with Kurt over coffee at the Lima Bean.

That was last year, though.

He thinks that maybe other extracurriculars that haven't been stained with memories of Kurt might help him, but the superhero club he starts does little to quiet his running mind. It seems like there's absolutely nothing he can do, nothing at all.

He's never felt so helpless.

And finding out that the  _Warblers,_  of all people, have stolen their Nationals trophy is just the cherry-on-top of the fucking sundae. Whether this is Sebastian's doing or not, Blaine is just  _done._  Done with everything. Storming his way to Dalton Academy to rescue the trophy seems like the most logical thing to do, under his fuming rage. In hindsight, it's definitely not the most intelligent thing he could have done.

His name is  _Hunter._  He's almost more smug than Sebastian, pre-transformation, if that's even possible. He wears a  _stupid_  smirk and that  _stupid_  blazer, and Blaine despises the way his slanted eyes track Sebastian's every movement.

He doesn't like this new boy. Not at all.

The thing that kills him, though, that digs and scratches its way under his skin the most, is how Sebastian acts like  _nothing is wrong._  He is all easy-smiles and buddy-buddy comments, and Blaine is tempted to shut the boy up with his fist. Somehow, he refrains. That doesn't mean it's an easy feat.

"You're a Dalton boy."

The comment squeezes in past the irritation, lodging itself into Blaine's brain for a split second.  _A Dalton boy._  It's shocking. He's never looked at it like that before. Dalton...could he come back? Could he leave McKinley, and all the hurt that seemed to dwell within its halls?

_Do you love me? Can you love mine?_

Sebastian's eyes are on him the entire time. He can feel the boy's gaze, burning into him with every step he takes and every note he sings. And it feels  _freeing,_  traveling around the common room, surrounded by familiar navy-and-red blazers. It sends him back to that moment at Regionals, the sudden urge that had struck him. He  _missed_  this. He missed the Warblers.

It seems so simple to him, in that moment. With a group of enchanted faces circling him, the welcomed tingling of his vocal chords from the exertion. Blaine  _belongs._  It is all so plain now. He can come back.

"What did I tell you? Flawless."

He lifts his head and meets Sebastian's darkened gaze head-on, searching for something in their depths that he's not even sure exists. Blaine can't tell what the boy's motives are, what has changed since the last time they spoke. Sebastian's expression is knowing, begging, at the same time.  _Come back,_  he is conveying, and the offer is so incredibly enticing.

This, in the end, is why he knows he can't.

He walks away from Dalton on shaky legs, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he sucks in a deep breath.  _In, out._   _Don't look back._  Dalton could make him happy. It could be what it takes to patch the gaping hole in his chest, and that, in fact, is what sends Blaine running. Because he doesn't deserve to be fixed, or made whole again. He is meant to suffer.

"What the  _fuck,_  Blaine?"

Sebastian's voice echoes throughout the empty courtyard, halting Blaine mid-step. He refuses to look back over his shoulder, too afraid of what awaits him.

"Where are you going? Come back inside," Sebastian insists, his voice breaking off on the last word. The desperation in his tone strikes at something in Blaine's chest, and he rubs absently at the spot, still facing away.

"I'm leaving," he mumbles. Footsteps can be heard scuffling closer from behind him before Sebastian speaks again.

"Blaine," he pleads, so hopeful that Blaine just  _aches_. "Stay.  _Please._ "

"I can't," he chokes out, folding his arms over his chest, "I can't."

"Yes, you can!" The statement is whispered vehemently, Sebastian's breath gusting out in one audible  _whoosh._  "You can come back. We all miss you, everyone would be glad you were back—you'd be happy, Blaine."

 _Happy._  Isn't that word just the kicker?

"Stop punishing yourself."

Sebastian sounds so  _sure._ Like he knows that this will be good for Blaine, that this is all it will take to bring Blaine back.  _You don't know anything._

"Just—leave me alone, Sebastian. I can't explain this to you," he mutters.

"Explain  _what?_  Quit being such a fucking  _martyr_! I'm sick of this! I've fucking given you time, and, okay, maybe a month isn't exactly a long time when it comes to a serious break up, but—goddamn, Blaine! You can only beat yourself up for so long. This isn't healthy. You need to  _let it go._ "

Let it go? " _Let it go?"_ Blaine snaps, spinning around on his heel and shoving himself into the other boy's space. "Fuck you, Sebastian! You don't know shit! You've never been in a serious relationship, so you have  _no right_  to tell me how I should be coping. I'm dealing, okay? And yeah, it's gonna take a  _long_  fucking time, but you need to accept that! I'm not just going to wake up one day and be  _better!_ "  _I don't deserve to be._

"Screw you, Anderson," Sebastian hisses, his face twisted into something... _ugly._  He leans forward and glares down at Blaine, his voice laced with venom. "I don't have to have had experience in relationships to know that what you're doing to yourself is ridiculous. People fuck up. Some more than others. But where would  _any_  of us be if we weren't able to forgive ourselves? I mean, Christ. Look at me, Blaine. I was— _am_ —the biggest asshole on the planet. But I'm  _trying_  to be better, and  _that's_  what counts."

They are both poised to strike, full to the brim with...everything. Sebastian's breath is hot against Blaine's face, and he continues to scowl, his body locked tightly with irritation. There is nothing but  _them_  in that moment, two boys and every unresolved issue piled up between them.

Why is this happening?

The moment drags on, the air utterly still minus the heaving of their chests and the  _something_  that is sizzling in the air around them. Without warning, Sebastian suddenly deflates and steps backward, his head dropping and his hands sliding up to grasp at his hair. When he glances up again, his eyes are unreadable, all signs of the previous frustration having vanished.

"I'm trying," he repeats softly, dropping his hands lamely back to his sides. "You make me want to be better, you know? And...I thought...well, I don't know what I thought." A sarcastic laugh, bitter, condescending. "I guess I thought that just  _maybe_ , maybe, I would make you want to be better, too."

Blaine's head is swimming, the confession rendering him speechless. What is he supposed to say to that?  _I'm sorry. I don't know what you want from me._

"Look...I get it, okay? I do." Sebastian's lips tilt up into a tiny, self-deprecating smile as he shakes his head. "I don't know why I disillusioned myself. I know better. You...you and me, we just don't...it doesn't work."

_No. Don't say that. What are you doing? What does this mean?_

"Seba—" Blaine chokes out, stumbling forward a step. Sebastian holds out a placating hand and shakes his head again, moving further backwards.  _Further away._

"Blaine, really. It's okay. I...wasn't thinking. I understand, I do. This.." he gestures back and forth between them, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "It's just not meant to happen, you know? There's no sense in trying anymore."

 _Where is this coming from?_  Blaine's fingers are trembling as he opens and closes his mouth, wanting to scream, beg, do  _something._  But nothing comes out. All he can do is stare at the boy's retreating back, the graceful curve of his spine and the hunch of his shoulders.

Of all the things that  _weren't_  supposed to happen, this one is the worst.

*

The lights. The crowd. The loud voices, the music.

It's all very nostalgic.

The New Directions are going to lose this time, and they all know it. They are a mess, literally, and Blaine doesn't really know why they're still going to bother. But he participates, dances, sings, does what is required of him. The Warblers are perfection, so in synch that it appears effortless. Blaine watches, rapt, as Sebastian and  _Hunter_  smile and throw themselves into the song, and Sebastian is so in his element, so...beautiful up on stage, that Blaine wants to cry.

He doesn't.

There is a standing ovation, again, but Blaine doesn't take part. He sits stoically, eyes glued to Sebastian's face, praying for just one look. A simple glance, that's all he wants.

It never comes.

And when the Warblers erupt into cheers at the end, proudly claiming their well-deserved Sectionals trophy, there is no sharing of secret smiles, no handshake.

There is Sebastian's retreating form, the graceful curve of his spine, shoulders pulled back confidently.

_Because I'll fuck this up. You._

And Blaine is selfish, so he did.

 _This_ is an ending.

__*_ _

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown  
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

FIN


End file.
